


memoirs of a gorilla

by swagikins



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Vader, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Beta Obi-Wan Kenobi, F/M, No Smut, Non-Linear Narrative, Omega Padmé, Rating May Change, Slow To Update, Suitless Darth Vader, Tags May Change, Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagikins/pseuds/swagikins
Summary: In which Padmé Amidala is caught in the woeful eye of a doomed saint. I heard he likes to play hide and seek.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is me dipping my toe into the abo world but without the filthy porn, this has always been an idea in my head, i’m Gonna Add to this but it won’t be a linear story. Unedited :)
> 
> tw, Padme is touched without consent but it’s not too terribly bad

“I’ve missed you, Padme.” Vader offered her a small smile, flashing pearly white teeth as he let his cheek fall against his gloved hand. He lightly swiveled back and forth in his command chair; Padme stood as far from him as she was allowed, her bound hands kept down at the front of her stomach as she didn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t know if she was standing far enough away to avoid his scent and the beautiful blues of his eyes or his presence overall; she didn’t decipher which.

Vader stood, the heaviness of his boots far too loud in Padme’s ears as he started to gingerly walk towards her. 

“You keeping me confined here will do no good with the Allied Systems.” Padme said, trying to sound as curt as possible as she stared at the toes of her former lover’s boots. “I had planned to attend a Senate meeting that was scheduled for two days ago, yet you keep me here.”

“Your place is far more important at my side than at some stupid Senate meeting,” Darth Vader rolled his eyes, crossing his arms like an arrogant teenager and turning to to glance at the control panels with their blinking lights and flashing switches. His hair was unruly, and it was falling over his shoulders as he swiveled on his heel; Padme noted that it was longer than he’d usually keep it. He must not have someone around to cut it— or really, he mustn’t have someone like herself around to cut it, as she’d used to trim it for him when it became too long.

She didn’t speak on it.

“I’ve spoken with those idiotic members of the Senate and they refused to cooperate with my growing Empire. I’ve already had twelve star systems agree to joining,” Vader’s gloved hands flexed as he clenched his fists. “if the systems that are a part of your little faction won’t join, then I’ll have to intervene myself and persuade them. So,” he glanced over his shoulder, his sky-blue, baby blue eyes glinting with something of a mischievous look. He turned back around to look at Padme. 

“finding you would have happened sooner or later.”

Padme still kept her gaze to the floor. Her eyes were glued on a crack in the metal flooring, and she was momentarily transfixed on a small bug that seemed to be scampering in between the fissures.

Vader said something else; Padme didn’t look up.

She could smell it before she felt it, a slowly swirling and bubbling annoyance and rage underneath Vader’s typical cinnamon and apple scent that Padme used to swoon over. It bubbled, and soon overflowed, making the apples go sour. 

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m sorry, milord.” Padme uttered briskly, sarcastically, bringing her chin down as chestnut curls spilled over her shoulders. “Being locked in a cell for three days with minimal food and water while being stalked on video like an animal is something that would usually coerce one into disdain for their captor.”

“I—“ Vader momentarily screwed his eyes shut, bringing a gloved hand outwards as if he were to reach for Padme’s throat. But, his hand flinched in the air, and he retracted it, and inhaled so deeply through his nose Padme thought he was trying to clear it from being stuffy.

Then, Vader faltered—he inhaled again. 

He fell quiet, and his eyes opened, baby sky blues flickering over to Padme’s bosom before scaling up to her neck. 

“Why...why can’t I scent you?” 

Padme didn’t speak, only turned her head sideways as she let her hair spill further over her chest. She didn’t have time to catch the quick, the hurried and paced _thud thud thud_ of Vader’s boots before she felt leather snake around her neck in an almost sinfully familiar feeling, and fingertips dig into the nape of her neck like a snake biting it’s prey; his hand forced her to finally look up.

Vader’s brow was furrowed, and he was intently staring at Padme’s covered neck; her heart was beating against her ears, raging it’s pulse so hard that her chest was physically moving, and when—Vader’s other hand tugged her hair back—

His scent of sour apples and cinnamon turned into one that was so burnt and bitter it made bile rise to the back of Padme’s throat.

Littered across Padme’s neck, just under her ear and a little below that, were ugly, jagged scars, and around that her skin was significantly paler than the rest of her neck. If one were to look closer, they’d notice a small dip in the flesh, as if something used to be there and was taken out. The scars were completely healed, but were an angry pink, and looked as fresh as if they had just appeared.

Padme started to tremble.

Vader blinked, startled—his eyes—blue, then murky brown, then gold, and then raging fire—

“You...you cut....”

“I had to.” Padme squeaked. She sounded feeble, her secret finally free from its cage; “You would have found me sooner had I not gotten rid of the thing you knew me best by.”

“You...” Vader idly let Padme’s hair fall from his fingers. He stumbled back, and then—he was furious. “You cut out your scent gland? Your—...Your...mating gland?..?!”

Padme almost missed the glint in his eyes that showed the insides of his chest; his heart was torn, and his lungs were stolen of the air they held. His ribs pierced his diaphragm; he could not breathe. Yet, his anger held all the warm and stormy air of the mighty seven seas.

“You know I despise my designation!” Padme suddenly roared with a vicious glare, finally yanking back from Vader and stepping so far from him she almost hit the wall. “I despise our biology; it applies to only _us_ and no other species! No other race! Just _us_! Anakin, you—“

Padme felt her spirit die away in her throat like a snuffed out candle. She gagged, and then when she felt a phantom touch, first gentle, almost caressing her ivory skin, she panicked some more than she was already doing. The gentle touch hardened and it felt as is Vader was physically pushing the flat of his palm into her larynx, closing her windpipe with a crushing strength. 

Tears started to prick at Padme’s eyes. Her lungs were empty and they burned as she gaped like a fish out of water. Her hands that were bound by silver cuffs flew up to scratch and claw at Vader’s invisible hands; her fingers met air, and then her own skin, and she scratched at her neck, to rid it of the itch that was keeping the air from her own lungs.

Something flickered across Vader’s face, from what Padme could see; it almost looked like it was a confused bout of deja vu, and his gloved hand that was outstretched to Padme pulled back, and she collapsed to her knees.

Her ears were ringing. Her head was spinning. A soft gust of air hit her face from when Vader turned and his cape followed behind him like a dog, flicking like a black candle. She felt like she was swaying. A door opened? Somewhere—it felt as if it were all around her and she was suddenly up, hauled to her feet by a cold hand that belonged to a black armored stormtrooper.

“Take her away.”

And so the trooper did.


	2. Chapter 2

The loud, bustling streets and walkways of Canto Bight were not loud enough to dull the loud thumping of Padme’s pulse. She felt it in her chest, heard it in her ears, even over the civilians whooping and clapping at the casino just up ahead. 

It was nighttime now, with the sun almost crossing the horizon and painting the sky in an ombré of dark oranges and pale purples and navy blues. The stars were twinkling, even through the bright lights of the streets, and Padme only tugged her hood over her ears, over her head, even more than it already was.

She had forgotten how many systems she had hopped now. By this point, she wondered if she had made a complete ring around the galaxy, if she were honest to herself. Before this, she had been on Crait, hiding amongst the caves and mine shafts long abandoned and strange creatures that, even though covered in thin layers of frost, gave her some bit of warmth in the cold. Unfortunately for Padme, she had ran out of food rations and ran out of clean clothes, so she had to trek somewhere to find some more.

Crait was bare of most life, except for the fox like animals, herself, and two or three maintenance men, from what all she had seen. So she felt pretty idiotic to leave the haven of peace and quiet just to get some clean clothes.

Every step she took was one that was risky, and as she came to a large, golden staircase that led up to the city’s main shopping grounds, she inhaled. She knew that she needed to hurry up; the smell of egotistical alpha and grotesquely putrid musk was enough to make her gag.

She descended the stairs, taking two at a time almost, and came up to the main area. Her last set of genuine clean clothes—clothes she hadn’t worn for a week straight—was simply a pair of black pants and a dark maroon turtleneck. Her boots were black with silver buckles and her hair was pulled back into a bun, just at the nape of her neck so it wasn’t such a hassle to take care of. Her cloak was one she found on some chair by some restaurant with some guy who didn’t seem to mind she took it. So she did.

The shops she came to were all very lively, with displays in their windows of elegant gowns and jewelry and trinkets that Padme could afford, if she hadn’t been burned out of Naboo by the Empire. In a few of them, there were even displays of the highest brand of omega suppressants. One storefront she passed by, the suppressants were priced at 1,200 Empire credits, for a package that would last 6 months.

Padme grimaced. Her neck throbbed.

She walked some more, admiring the golden dresses and diamond necklaces she once wore during her time as a senator, and soon came to a shop that wasn’t as flashy as the others. In its display window, there was just a case of ancient books, and a leather jacket. And maybe _one_ mildly expensive record player.

Padme walked in, the door jingling with a little bell above her. She was quick to search for the clothing section, and found it, off to the back and tucked away in a corner.

“Welcome, well-come!” The shopkeeper’s voice was rusty, and for a moment, Padme suspected it was a droid. She was right, however, as she gingerly walked up the small pathway and took a turn to the clothes. “We have special discount on all tobacco products, only 25 credits instead of 40!”

The shopkeeper was rolling around on three wheels and looked as if he were freshly polished. He beeped and clicked and ran into a rack of knock-off holocron scanners, but immediately started to fix it with two little arms that came out of his chest.

Padme hurried. She just skimmed through the clothes—she grabbed this nightgown, these pants, this shirt and that shirt—and merely looked for necessities. She didn’t care about whether or not it was designated men’s clothing or women’s clothing, and she half-assedly looked at the price tags. 

Soon, she had half an armful, and quickly went to the front desk to pay. She set the pile on the counter, and as she reached to her belt to pull her bag of credits from her pocket, the droid shopkeeper rolled up to start quickly, almost effortlessly, scanning items and putting them in bags.

“That’s 240 Empiric credits, mad-dam!” He chirped, rolling back and forth for a bit.

Padme’s heart dropped.

She only had 200.

“Is there—Is there any way you can give me a discount? Something like that?” 

The droid stopped, and tilted his head like he was a bird, before the blue LED lights used for his eyes flashed red twice. 

“No! Saw-ry! 240 Empiric credits!” 

Padme gulped. Guilt seeped into her veins. Her stomach turned to lead.

She looked down at the bags of clothes, and then slowly back up at the droid.

She grabbed them.

And ran.

“Hey! What—‘re you do-ing? Get back here!” The shopkeeper’s voice turned hard, more robotic than it was before and she didn’t catch what he said as she pushed out of the store.

There was a larger swarm of gamblers and shoppers when Padme came back outside; the mixing scents of what she could tell was alpha, beta, and even a few sparsely omegas burned her nose and she quietly said a mantra of “excuse me’s” as she elbowed through the crowd.

She smelled forests, fresh rain; a tall man with black hair down to his shoulders glanced at her with mild disdain.

As she was passing through the crowd, there were conversations that she heard bits and pieces of.

“...did you hear that...”

“How much did you....”

“..Lord Vader...!”

“My husband cheated on....”

“....Allied Systems meeting at....”

“....I’m in...debt...”

“He’s here?....”

“...Vader....coming!”

Padme felt her feet starting to run even faster. She stepped on some toes, quickly exclaimed sorry, and turned a sharp corner when a few stormtroopers uniformly stepped out of an alleyway.

Whether or not they were looking for her or were a security detail for whoever was here, she didn’t care.

A putrid smell of overused cologne flooded her senses as she got the upper parts of the entertainment district. This was where the main gambling hall was located; off to her right, the race track that had just been completed. In front of her, just a bit to her left, the largest casino on the surface. She started to heard towards it.

Here is where the crowd was the thickest. A mingle of alpha men and women, betas too, were flocking around small stands that had been put up outside the front gates. She shoved past them to make a detour into the casino.

Roses and bourbon; an alpha woman with gorgeous blonde hair and eyes, who was terrifyingly tall, tried to talk Padme into attempting a game of Roulette.

She looked around the large casino, starting to get a headache. All of the scents were starting to mingle and blend together; it didn’t do well with her current predicament of trying to find a way out.

She suddenly heard a gasp to her left. 

“Lord Vader!” 

Padme’s steps quickened.

She didn’t want to look around, to see if he was actually here; she didn’t want to know where he was, at all. Whether he was here or halfway across the galaxy, she didn’t want to know.

She was starting to walk as fast as she could, elbowing her way and mumbling light apologies as she kept going. She just kept going; eventually she found herself in the midst of the grand hall of this casino, and caught the faintest view of the back end of the room.

A back door.

She almost—almost—let out a great, big sigh of relief, and started her path again.

She ran into one figure, seemingly larger and more broad than any others. Her elbow jab was right in between the shoulder blades, and she helped a small “sorry” as the person turned over their shoulder.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as Darth Vader’s own eyes bulged out of his skull, in shock, surprise, or something else entirely.

That’s when the faintest hint of cinnamon hit her nose.

_Fuck._

She ran.

She bolted.

She even almost tripped over her own two feet.

“ _Stop her_!” She heard it, loud, clear, _commanding_ , over all of the cheering gamblers and straggling betas trying to make some cash. It was eerie and grating to her ears, and she almost had half a thought to obey the command of the alpha her damn self, had she still kept the most vital organs of her ancestral anatomy. 

Padme almost wailed in defeat when she felt hands grip at her arms, and her legs, and her neck. The bag of clothes fell from her fingers and she was trapped.

A tear fell down her cheek as the sweetly smell of apples reached her senses, wrapping her up like a blanket and suffocating her with an intense warmth. The crowd parted, like a wave, like dogs in submission, and a stormtrooper from what she assumed was likely an Imperial Star Destroyer reached down to pull her up to her feet. Of all the days she decided to go out.


End file.
